My physical therapist recently told me that our tissue retains a memory of every trauma it has ever suffered. If that is true, then my own body is a crowded archive of pains and memories. Yet, there is something deeply wondrous about this: we might consciously forget the falls, the blows, and the physical shocks our bodies endure over a lifetime, but the body itself forgets nothing.
This silent bookkeeping is not limited to our flesh. Every time we are heartbroken—from the sharp sting of our very first love onward—our hearts and minds retain the precise “who” and “why.” Somewhere, quietly lodged in the deep recesses of the brain, lies an absolute record of every single moment we have ever lived. These hidden files only occasionally slip past our conscious guard, revealing themselves in the fluid landscapes of our dreams or in those sudden, eerie flashes of familiarity we call déjà vu.
It makes me wonder: why would God design us with such an astonishing capacity for memory, only to hide the vast majority of it from our conscious recall? While a rare few among us possess the extraordinary gift—or perhaps burden—of near-perfect recall, the rest of us live atop a mountain of experiences we can no longer consciously see. What is the divine purpose of a treasury we are forbidden to spend?
Think about the above and tomorrow we will continue….
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